Dinosaur art
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Gimsoystraumen Bru bridge over Gimsoystraumen sea strait. In the rain and mist it looked to me like some kind of Jurassic Park with a brontosaurus feasting there ;)
My second shot from Mupe Bay, this was taken on our walk back up the cliffs. It really is a stunning bit of coast, and the colour of the water here is gorgeous.
I had a case of Pareidolia when I arrived and I don't know if you can see it, but in the far distance, I think the cliffs look like a dinosaur lying down, maybe a brontosaurus or something like that? I mean, it's not called the Jurassic Coast for nothing!!
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Actually this is Middle Creek Pa. If only there were a Brontosaurus wading in the water. Then I would really have something!
For this weeks Macro Monday theme of B&W Square format, figure I would take a macro of a dinosaur ... not often you get to see a Brontosaurus taken with a 100mm lens :))
Mrs. Krach has these dino sized earrings ...
Cycads and Staghorn ferns are my two most favorite plants. Whenever I see them, I think they should be growing on another planet.
Leaves. This plant is so cool that when I found it at a nursery on Vashon Island, I bought it.
Perhaps I'm partial to the Jurassic period! If I plant it, they will come. 'They' is brontosaurus.
Melianthus Major
I bought this fresh from the market it is called dinosaur kale. While getting ready for dinner I noticed it really did look like a brontosaurus, lol :-) Happy week !
Sometimes it’s fun to raise the threat level, just to feel the blood rushing through your veins as you wonder whether this is the greatest plan you’ve ever had. Was it a good idea to scramble down the cliff to the edge of the water? After all, we were three miles away from the nearest farm and it was some time after midnight. We’d had to walk all the way from that farm because a mountain route led here, and you can only drive on those challenging F roads in a four wheel drive vehicle. In fact we’d been walking barely five or ten minutes before we could see that Brian, our trusty yellow VW camper for the week would have disappeared down the very first pothole we came across. It looked more like a brontosaurus print than anything else. A brontosaurus that had been practising for the Dinolympics triple jump final for that matter. In lead lined hobnail boots. Concerned about the potholes at the end of your road? Try driving here and see whether you’re still that bothered. The brontosaurus obviously wasn’t.
After forty minutes or so of route marching along the rock strewn track that calls itself the F26 road, an unseen watery crescendo gradually building as we got closer, we arrived at the lonely outpost of Aldeyjarfoss. From here, you could continue your journey south for more than two hundred kilometres, across what must be some of the most remote and hostile terrain in Europe before finding yourself on a tarmac road again. Maybe one day - if somebody else is doing the driving that is. For now we were happy enough to be here, further from civilisation than ever before, and when civilisation consists of a couple of farms somewhere back down a long gravel road, and a gift shop and café more than forty kilometres away at Goðafoss, that makes you feel even more alone. You really wouldn’t want to have any mishaps out here in the middle of the night when there’s nobody else about. To be honest, even if a party of synchronised swimmers happened to be nearby, armed with scuba gear, rubber rings and an industrial size fishing net, they’d still only be watching you gasping your last frozen breaths as the icy river whisked you away down the canyon.
So of course we clambered down to the bubbling surface of the cauldron. After all, it didn’t look too sketchy, and as long as we kept away from any edges, we’d be just fine. And if there were any unfortunate incidents, what a spectacular way to wave the world farewell, floating out of that beautiful bowl, with its cathedral like basalt columns and that ever boiling centre at the bottom of the fall. And by the time we’d carefully picked our way over the rocks and arrived at the bottom, there was no denying that it had been worth the effort. I’m not sure what was more spectacular, the sight of all that furious water, or the thundering sound that filled our ears until it spilled back out of them and into the world again. It was those online pictures of the view from above that had caught my imagination and caused me to chase across the subarctic landscape of Northern Iceland to this place, but the sense of wonder that came from being down at the water's edge, so close to the action, was something else again. Standing here, mesmerised by the endless pouring of patterns onto the surface of the raging cauldron isn’t something easily forgotten, and neither is the acute awareness that you’re a long long way from anything that bears the stamp of humanity. In most places during our visit, other people were never very far away, even when our images pretended otherwise. And even if there were nobody around those other places, there were car parks, rubbish bins, electricity pylons, or road signs. Here in a world apart from the one we all know, things were different. We might as well have been on another planet.
Four years later, Aldeyjarfoss remains a stark and lonely highlight of that first trip to Iceland. If it hadn’t existed, or even if it had been a few miles further along that heavily rutted mountain road where brontosauruses once roamed, we’d have never come this far. We’d have missed Goðafoss and the Whale Watching trip out of Húsavík the following morning. So despite the extra miles and a particularly long and tiresome slog to the south east corner the next day as a result of coming here, what a good job Aldeyjarfoss is exactly where it is. Far away enough to make getting there an adventure, but not impossible to reach without a tractor on steroids. And most of all, it leaves me wanting more. On our second trip we touched the opposite end of the F26 road on our outing around Háifoss and Þjófafoss, and now I’m hungry to explore the bit in the middle. Time to start saving up the funds to hire that tractor I think.
yeah, of course, it is the Forth Bridge for railway in Edinburgh, where we had a short stopover before continuing our journey home. From this perspective I really saw three brontosauri in line biting each other's tail ;)
Today's featured letter "i" is brought to you by the moon and the ever-livin' gorgeous Colorado Rocky Mountains.
Image Notes: manually blended two exposures via luminosity masks.
Musical accompaniment: "Walking in your footsteps" by The Police
Haw River and Highway 15-501, near Pittsboro, North Carolina, USA
My two hundred and fifty times great granddad was probably the nightwatchman in his tribe. The family tree doesn’t go back quite that far, so let’s call him Unk Haughton. The Irish connection runs deep. I’ve no idea whether Unk was a common name back then, but indulge me if you will; it sounds suitably Neolithic. During the mornings, Unk would sleep like a baby after a bucketful of gripe water, and the hunters in the group would bring him a brontosaurus steak for brunch when he finally stirred around midday. In return he stayed up all night and monitored the campfire to keep the sabre tooth tigers away while he was etching likenesses of coastal beacons on the cave walls and scratching runic prose on lumps of slate to tell vastly exaggerated tales of his averagely interesting adventures. Like me, Unk was a dreamer, but he was usually still wide awake when everyone else in the tribe was nodding off after a long day at the swamp.
Well ok so I might have made some of that up - or even all of it, but there is this appealing theory that the differences in our body clocks arise from the fact that we were once pack animals, and those early groups of humans needed someone to be awake all night while the others slept. Unk was probably rather more adept at the old fisticuffs than this particular descendant, but apart from that, and very possibly a slightly more Neanderthal profile, there is much that unites us. Especially the heavy eyelids until several hours after the cock has crowed. Or when in Egypt, after the Muezzin has announced the 5am prayers are about to start. Ironic then, that this was the first morning I wasn’t stirred from my sleep by the deep and solemn cries from the nearby mosque. A good job then that I’d managed to set the alarm correctly this time.
It was the second morning in a row that I’d broken those genetic ties and risen in time to make the five minute stroll to watch the sunrise over the Straits of Tiran. And unlike yesterday, I arrived at my spot with plenty of time to absorb what was by now already a very familiar view. Surrounded by hotels stretching away in all other directions, it was the only show in town as far as taking photographs went. I could shoot it wide, or I could zoom in, but apart from that, there wasn’t much else I could point the camera at. It was either Tiran Island, or it was erm, Tiran Island. It’s not the first shot you’ve seen of it here and it won’t be the last. But I'm not complaining. If there was only one subject on offer, it could have been a lot worse than this. Almost a case of the landscape coming to the photographer.
There was a noticeable absence of tide information on my chosen app for the area. In fact, the second closest available location for which Surfline could share the inside skinny was Gaza City, which thankfully was about three hundred miles north of here. I wasn’t planning on going to a war zone for my seascape photography fix. Even if it is west facing and I wouldn’t have to be up at 5:45am to get my shots. Who knew Gaza was a surfer's paradise? I certainly didn’t. Maybe, hopefully, one day the place will find some peace. Although I doubt that's going to happen in my lifetime.
Talking of peace, first thing in the morning as the sun hid just behind the eastern horizon, this wasn't a bad spot to be in. In a few hours from now the blue and yellow clad entertainments crew would arrive at the active pool and switch on an ungodly racket, and this was nothing compared to the wall of sound that would be coming over the boundary hedge from the Nubian Village resort next door. For now it was just me, trying my best to break the trait I inherited from Great Great Grandad Unk, the ever present security guards stationed on the beach down below, and the odd rebel, late of the lobby bar, who hadn't found their way to bed yet. Nothing to disturb us but the sound of the waves and a couple of herons chasing each other across the edge of the water. And as morning skies go, it seemed I'd picked a good one to get up for. Of course I'd studied the weather apps, noted the promise of high and medium level cloud and the complete absence of anything closer to the ground to get in the way and hoped for a colourful sky. It wasn't the only time these conditions had been on the cards in the early morning. But on no other morning did I see Tiran Island surrounded by a world of pastel pinks. Worth crawling out of bed for. Unk would have loved it.
This lion standing at this tree captivated all six of the members of the Sept. 2022 "Big Cats" safari. We all have multiple versions of this shot, and the tree stump, which we dubbed the Dinosaur or Brontosaurus, began showing up in photos on other days from other angles, often from far away. At any rate, the Dinosaur was a good hiding and scouting point for this lion in Kenya's Mara Triangle Conservancy. ©2022 John M. Hudson | jmhudson1.com
Where he's got a Styracosaurus from, I've no idea, but there's a Brontosaurus at home who's going to be so happy.
Fifty million years ago
You walked upon the planet so
Lord of all that you could see
Just a little bit like me
Walking in your footsteps
Walking in your footsteps
Hey Mr. Dinosaur
You really couldn't ask for more
You were God's favorite creature
But you didn't have a future
Walking in your footsteps
Walking in your footsteps
Hey mighty brontosaurus
Don't you have a message for us
You thought your rule would always last
There were no lessons in your past
You were built three storeys high
They say you would not hurt a fly
If we explode the atom bomb
Would they say that we were dumb?
Walking in your footsteps
Walking in your footsteps
Taken with Anamorphic Lens.
As a young child, I loved everything to do with dinosaurs - this was likely fueled by all the B-movies of these 'monsters' from the 1950's and 1960's. And even now, I have models of a brontosaurus, velociraptor and this Tyrannosaurus rex sitting on my desk. I have rarely photographed them as they just don't look properly real despite the intricate details in their manufacture. But because of this lack of realism, I thought this could be useful as an homage to the stop-motion animation used in these old films. This is an animated film making technique in which models are physically manipulated in small increments in individually photographed frames so they will appear to move when the frames are played back. Oddly enough, the 1966 film 'One Million Years B.C.' was on TV this morning - although infamous for the fur bikini of Rachel Welch, the film depicts an impressive stop-motion battle between an allosaurus and a triceratops, filmed by the great Ray Harryhausen.
Our fascination with dinosaurs continues to the present with the popularity of the Jurassic Park and Godzilla films with special effects far superior to the old stop-motion animation to satisfy modern audiences.
When checking out some of these old movies I was surprised to find that they were in colour, but I only remember them in black and white, hence my choice for a black and white image for this theme which provided a more 'retro' quality. I realised that when I first saw these films, it would have been on an old black and white TV!
For Macro Mondays theme 'Figurine'. Shot as a focus stack of five images, focusing on those teeth, then cropped to be within the MM size limit.
Brian apologises to all his fans, but he found the Tyrannosaur far too scary to do a photoshoot with.
We have civil engineering works taking place off Dysart Beach. This offshore barge was only there for about a week, but looked quite fetching in the early morning sunshine and I fancied its silhouette looked like a long-necked diplocodus or brontosaurus dinosaur? I hope to catch-up with you soon after the early morning airport trip!
Made Explore #426 on 27 August 2009.
: )
Hello friends!
Looks like I'll be away for a while so I wanted to quickly share a recent photo with you.
This is an early morning sunrise photo I captured last Monday.
It's the top of a big rock rising from the water and being mirrored by the light of the sunrise : )
From afar, it reminded me of a comet with a fiery glow trailing behind it!
Or even a prehistoric creature arching from the ocean below ; )
((a dinosaur... Diplodocus, Brontosaurus!))
This is simply SOOC (straght out of camera), no adjustments made.
Something about this rock rising & reflecting from the calm water really caught my eye, but I can't explain exactly why.
Like my last photo, this wasn't one I originally intended to share here, but I'm learning that sometimes others enjoy these types of works too.
As I mentioned, I'll be away for a while and wanted to post something before leaving.
I have a few more pics from this shoot which I would also like to share with you after I return : )
I hope you guys find something enjoyable or interesting here : )
Appreciate your support (so very much)... and see you all again soon!
CRUSH
Light posts.
(Jan 2020 - it was crazy cold -38C ish)
Follow me on Instagram... for crappier smaller images. 😛
www.instagram.com/shots_by_jeff_day/
IMG 3039
This lion standing at this tree captivated all six of us members of the Sept. 2022 "Big Cats" safari. We all have multiple versions of this shot, and the tree stump, which we dubbed the Dinosaur or Brontosaurus or the like, began showing up in photos on other days from other angles, often from far away. At any rate, the Dinosaur was a good hiding and scouting point for this lion in Kenya's Mara Triangle Conservancy. ©2022 | John M. Hudson
My Beloved Brontosaurus
You've been a friend to me, a godsend to me
I ain't too proud to say
You've been a friend to me
Autumn is a bit of a lottery in Cornwall. Blink and you'll miss it around here. With the mildest climate in the UK the colours arrive later than anywhere else, often at the same time as the storm season, which rips them from the branches before they really get going. Around where I live the only real signs of the season are found on the Beeches, most of it in the canopy. It's a pain in the neck - quite literally. The Sycamores in the garden simply go brown and dump their foliage messily across the lawn. Already, most of the trees around us are bare, without having bothered to put on a show.
So Lee and I headed for Golitha Falls with no small degree of scepticism over what we might find, our reservations being replaced by almost boundless optimism as we drove the last few miles through the orange and gold glow of the Glynn Valley. It seemed we'd discovered an oasis of vibrance amid the drab greys and browns and the stubborn greens along the way. With our destination so close at hand it seemed a certainty that we'd be rewarded for our hundred mile round trip; but of course it never works like that does it? In retrospect we should have parked in a layby along the main road and set out tripods up right there. We might have got some funny looks from the endless flow of passing motorists, but we might have got some better pictures too. On arrival at the visitors' hotspot the colours were all over the ground and noticeably absent from the branches around us. We'd arranged to meet our friend Hudson, the only person I know with his own Wikipedia entry, and while we waited we queued at Inkies, the artisan fast food outlet that would prove to be the highlight of the day. As we ate enormous protein products nestling within huge hunks of bread, we watched the action at the bird feeding station, getting particuarly excited by a beautiful Nuthatch that was helping itself to the goodies on offer. When we'd finished eating I announced I might stay right where I was and try photographing the Nuthatch instead, unconvinced by the lack of autumn in the trees as I was. But instead I dragged myself towards the wood, full of bread and brisket to spend three hours stumbling around on slippery surfaces, wiping rain spots from filters and cursing mildly as I tinkered with the histogram on the back of the camera. Quite how any of my equipment didn't end up racing down the boulder strewn falls in a bid for freedom remains a mystery to me.
After lots of grumbling and a brief discussion as to whether we should abort our mission and head for nearby Respryn I began to see compositions and settled into my zone, entering the rushing water as far as my wellies would allow me to go. Convinced I was beginning to make sense of things I relaxed and started to enjoy myself. At some point in the afternoon my phone made an unheard noise from somewhere in the depths of the bag to tell me that Lee had returned to the cafe. Hudson had departed already for his appointment with someone from the medical profession wielding a booster jab. At the point I realised an attempt to make contact with me had been made, I was engaged in an ultimately fruitless focus stack at the bottom of a waterfall and said I'd be a while. Gradually I made my way back towards the top of the falls, gazing vacantly into the space, often wandering in and out of the river to try and grab a composition with some colourful leaves and mostly failing. But I felt that I'd got something worthwhile from the outing at least. Or at least until I got home and downloaded the raw files onto my computer. My progress back to the car was delayed by an encounter with a fellow photographer whom it seemed would be able to talk the hind legs off a Brontosaurus if he were allowed to, and so I eventually stumbled out of the woods to find Lee waiting by the car. I really ought to give him the spare key next time, but he was clearly quite contented, having helped himself to an ice cream at the cafe and he'd kept himself entertained by watching the activity at the bird feeders. Apparently the Nuthatch had been joined by a Woodpecker and some Blackcaps, so I stopped feeling guilty about keeping him waiting. A few hours later I was feeling pretty underwhelmed by the results of the day's efforts. Too many cluttered scenes and too much over exposed water. At least in this shot there were no black shadows and no clipped highlights. Perhaps I should have had an ice cream and taken a picture of a Nuthatch instead.
I wanted to illustrate how I am still a child at heart. I love dinosaurs, and as a graphic designer, I've done a few digital drawings of them, so I decided to unite myself with one of the drawings. For me these pictures show my inner child, my imagination, and a few aspects of my art.
Sinclair is still going at it. The company used a brand icon of a dinosaur to remind motorists that oil is a fossil fuel. It should be noted this is a statue of an apatosaurus, and NOT what was back in the 1930s erroneously thought of as a brontosaurus, which was a very popular dinosaur.
"bedrock city" aka the very retro 1960s-era flintstones theme park in northern arizona.
nikon D7000 + nikkor 10-24mm, 2min exposure under full moon + 5x stacked exposures for star trails. light painting with LED flashlight, magenta and purple gels.
Dinosaur Park is a tourist attraction in Rapid City, South Dakota, United States. Dedicated on May 22, 1936, it contains seven dinosaur sculptures on a hill overlooking the city, created to capitalize on the tourists coming to the Black Hills to see Mount Rushmore. Constructed by the city of Rapid City and the Works Progress Administration, WPA Project #960's dinosaurs were designed by Emmet Sullivan. Sullivan also designed the Apatosaurus (formerly thought of as a synonym of Brontosaurus) at Wall Drug nearby in Wall, South Dakota, the Christ of the Ozarks statue in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and the dinosaurs at the now closed Dinosaur World in Beaver, Arkansas. The park is located at 940 Skyline Drive and is maintained by the city of Rapid City. Admission is free, however steep flagstone stairs may limit handicapped accessibility. The park was listed on the National Register of Historic Places on June 21, 1990. Dinosaurs represented in the park include Apatosaurus, Tyrannosaurus rex, Triceratops, Stegosaurus, and an Edmontosaurus annectens (formerly Anatotitan which itself formerly Trachodon). A Protoceratops and a Dimetrodon (Dimetrodon is not actually a dinosaur, but rather a synapsid, and more closely related to mammals than reptiles) were added later on and are located near the gift shop and parking lot. With the exception of the Protoceratops, the dinosaurs they selected were based on fossils found in South Dakota and the Western United States. The dinosaurs were constructed out of 2 inch black iron pipe, with a wire mesh frame and a concrete skin. Originally they were gray in color, but by the 1950s the statues were painted bright green with white undersides. Being constructed in the 1930s, the dinosaurs reflect the thinking of the times (for example, dragging tails). The tyrannosaur's original finger claws (of which it incorrectly had three on each hand) as well as its teeth have been lost or damaged over the years to where its hands are stumps and its teeth are all but gone. Vintage postcards of the T. rex do in fact show these were originally part of the sculpture. The Stegosaurus also had a shorter tail with 4 correct tail spikes, but this has changed recently where the tail spikes have been removed (perhaps due to safety concerns) and the tail considerably lengthened.